Retribution
by In the House
Summary: House and Thomas plot together to get at least partial justice for Jet. Follows Pain in my series.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anybody you saw on your TV screen is not my character. Thomas and Jet are my characters, and I'm proud of both of them.

A/N: This story follows Pain in my series. It is quite short, just a handful of chapters, sweet, and to the point. Enjoy!

(H/C)

House carefully maneuvered the shiny new Camaro through the streets, suspiciously eyeing other traffic. The weather was awful, one of those January days of cold, driving rain that would be ice if it had just a few degrees more of ambition. He was confident in his ability to handle the roads, but they were just beginning to get slick at that stage where people who merrily blast on their way with no adjustments made for conditions can lose control. Victory so far didn't have a scratch marring the electric blue and black paint, and he planned to keep it that way as long as possible.

Victory. He ran a hand fondly along the dash as he sat still at a light. The size of this gift from his father still staggered him. The fact that the old man had been happy, even excited to give it and that he hadn't once tried to play it into a now-you-owe-me card staggered House even more.

He was on his way to Thomas' house now. Normally, they had a standing date on Thursdays in the late morning now to meet at the stable, take Ember out for a drive, and then have lunch afterward, unless House had a case urgent enough that he couldn't leave. Today, however, the weather had interfered. Obviously, getting the mare out in this would be miserable for her as well as them. Still, Thomas wanted to do lunch, wanted to see his son, and had asked by text this morning if he were still coming.

House, in private honest moments, admitted that he didn't want to cancel lunch, either. Ember was fun, and driving her and her four sound legs was exhilarating, but Thomas was fascinating. House enjoyed his company. The new relationship they were slowly building still felt odd but progressive, as long unused muscles feel as they become used to exercise and begin to develop newfound condition that the body never knew before that it was missing.

He pulled into the old man's driveway, pulled his jacket closer together, and got out. A sharp dash for the door through the rain wasn't possible, not with his leg, even if it hadn't been aching more than usual today. Effect of the weather, of course. Methadone and the new pain management were helping, but House knew that he would probably always be very aware of rainy and cold conditions.

Thomas was waiting at the front door, holding it open invitingly, with just a hint of quickly suppressed concern in his eyes. He at least didn't point out the lack of an umbrella, which House gave him credit for. There was an umbrella, carefully installed in the back floorboard by Cuddy, but House almost never used it when he was alone.

"Hello, Greg." The smile was in his tone as well as the words.

"Hey, old man." House stepped on inside and shook his head and shoulders like a dog. "Awful day out there."

"Only out there." Thomas was still smiling. "I'm glad to see you."

"Since it's been so long since dinner last night," House shot back, but he was only teasing, and the old man knew it.

"Give me your coat, and I can hang it up. Maybe it will dry off pretty well by the time we're done."

"Lot of good that will do, since it will be raining then, too." House was already shrugging off the coat even as he protested. The action had always been a bit difficult while propped on a cane, especially on bad leg days. Thomas reached out to help him, and House tensed up slightly, then forced himself to relax, reminding himself that no insult was meant, just improved efficiency.

Thomas hung the jacket on the coat tree standing near the door. Jet, who had been hanging back a little from the entrance in acknowledgement of the rain outside and of that House had shaken off his coat a minute earlier, stretched himself fore and aft casually, then ambled forward for his usual greeting.

Five feet away, the black cat froze. Every hair he had stood on end, and he snarled deep in his throat, a growl carrying an emphasis that neither of the men had ever heard from him. Jet advanced another two feet, lower and lower to the ground as he came, then hissed, reached out with claws extended to take a long-distance swipe at House's pants, then whirled around and bolted for his cave. In a flash, nothing was left visible to indicate the presence of the cat, but they could still hear him growling around the corner of the homemade lair and out of sight.

The two men stared after him, then looked at each other. "What the hell?" House asked.

Thomas was just as baffled. "He's been fine all morning."

House knew Jet liked him. This welcome almost reminded him of Belle's reaction to his "cheating" with Cathy's kitten over a year earlier, but it was far more intense and far more deadly serious. Belle merely had been disgusted and offended. Jet just now was terrified. He acted like he had been in danger.

Thomas went to the cave and knelt down in front of it. "Jet?" he called. He reached in.

"Careful," House warned. The kitten was still growling low in his throat.

Thomas' hand found the kitten, and he stroked him. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, fished a cat treat out of his pocket, then offered it into the cave. He shook his head. "He's not taking it."

For Jet to refuse a treat was unheard of. Thomas stroked him a few more times, then carefully pulled the kitten back into view. "What is it, Jet? Are you all right?" The kitten let himself be extracted, and when Thomas picked him up, he huddled in against him, but when House took a step forward, Jet snarled, turning up the volume.

"Take off your shirt, Greg," Thomas requested. House was already starting to unbutton it a second before the old man asked. He stripped the shirt off and then tossed it lightly to the side, landing a good ten feet away from the old man and the cat. Thomas stood and carried Jet over, then bent down to pick the discarded garment up. He only got halfway. Jet launched himself out of Thomas' arms, teeth and claws bared, and ripped the shirt straight out of his human's hand. For several seconds, cat and shirt were locked in mortal combat on the floor, and then Jet, again puffed to twice his size, streaked for the cave and disappeared for the second time.

"What exactly have you been doing this morning?" Thomas asked. "And with whom?"

House was thinking in high speed himself. "I've got a patient," he said. "Interesting but not critical. Had him since yesterday. This morning, right before coming here, I went to his room and spent several minutes examining him directly myself. Not that he really needed it medically, but the team happened to mention that he had some interesting old scars. I was curious."

Thomas looked toward the growling cave. "Claw marks?"

"They could have been. Easily could have been, come to think of it. He wouldn't say, was all in a huff insisting that wasn't what was wrong with him, which it isn't. This happened months ago." House grinned. "They were on his penis."

Thomas smiled himself before the expression dissolved into deadly seriousness.

"Team hadn't seen anything like that before. That's why I examined him, just to check it out even though it wasn't relevant to the case."

"Let's do a lab test," Thomas suggested. "I'll get you some clothes, and you go take a shower. I'll throw your pants and shirt in the washer and then wash my hands off. Let's see what happens."

By the time House emerged, thoroughly scrubbed, from the shower, dressed in his father's clothes, there was no trace of his own left to be seen. Even the coat tree with the jacket had been moved outside onto the front porch. Thomas was sitting on the couch feeding Jet treats, and the black cat, though still looking a little unsettled, was eating them.

House approached. "Hey, Jet," he said. Jet turned to look at him. His ears went back briefly, and his nose wiggled, but he had known House for months, after all. He was wary but not running or attacking, not yet. House walked up slowly, not that he had much choice, and reached out, letting Jet see the approaching hand all the way. Jet gave him a sniff and then relaxed. As House scratched his ears, he started to purr. House sat down on the couch next to them, and Thomas passed the kitten over. Jet curled up nicely in his lap, still purring.

Father and son looked at each other. "Your patient is the SOB who threw Jet out of that car and shattered his leg," Thomas announced.

House nodded. "That's obvious. The better question is, what are we going to do about it? There are limits. Can't break his leg likewise, unfortunately, but surely we can come up with something at least partially appropriate."

Thomas smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Very short scene for you, which I meant to combine with the next one. Sorry for the brevity. Lots is going on, and Mom's book has prime position for any crumbs of writing time that fall. But we'll get there, and even get there pretty quickly. This story doesn't take the scenic route to its destination.

(H/C)

The empty pizza box lay on the floor, and the black kitten, having already snuffled out every crumb, was playing in it, rolling as he pulled the lid over on himself. One on the couch, one in the chair, the two men were deep in conversation.

"So we'll have to wait for more information," Thomas said, "but I think we've got a few good preliminary ideas."

House nodded. "I should have a lot more on him by tonight, and we can plot after the girls are asleep. Not around Lisa, though. Using the doctor-patient relationship to get revenge would bother her."

"Not that anything we do for revenge will be enough," Thomas said. "Still, the legal routes are out of the question. Jet can't testify, the patient would deny it, and even if we had ironclad proof and a legal conviction, it's probably a slap on the wrist."

House looked at his grandfather's watch. "Got to get back. Busy afternoon planned. But speaking of wrists, we need to add that conversational ice breaker."

Thomas retrieved Jet from the pizza box and then moved over to sit on the couch next to his son. House rolled up his left sleeve, baring his wrist, and Thomas looked down at the cat. "Go ahead, old man."

Thomas started to pick up Jet's paw, and then his hand fell back. "I can't do it, Greg."

"Come on. This is for a good cause, and it was my idea in the first place. You even said it was a good one."

"I know, and it is, but . . . I just can't." Thomas passed the cat over. "You do it."

House sighed. "Be a lot easier with two people." Thomas didn't budge. "Okay, Jet. I need to borrow your claws for a few seconds. Consider it a strike for justice." He maneuvered the kitten around into position and then back into position again as Jet, deciding this was a game, flipped clear over and lovingly embraced House's arm with all four feet. "Quit it, cat. Cooperate, would you? Sure you don't want to help me, old man?"

Thomas shrugged helplessly. "I just can't do it."

"Here, Jet." House succeeded in wedging Jet's hindquarters beneath his right elbow. Picking up a front paw, the one that had been hurt, he stroked back the skin on top, exposing claws, and then moved his left arm closer. Jet shifted a little more vigorously, beginning to think this was a strange game if it was one, and House, knowing feline cooperation would only degenerate, made a quick swipe with the bared paw, throwing some of his own pressure behind it. A moment later, he released Jet and studied his wrist. A fine, full set of claw marks, about 3 inches long, already bleeding. He scratched the kitten's ears. "Thank you, Jet. Your cooperation was appreciated." He looked at Thomas. "And yours would have been helpful. It's not like there's any correlation between an invited cat attack for a good purpose and . . . my childhood."

"I know." Thomas was watching the scratches bleeding. "Be sure you take good care of that, Greg."

"I am a doctor, old man. I know how to deal with a cat scratch . . . right after I make use of it." He stood up. "Tune in tonight for more details for us to work with."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay. The last few weeks have starred family member's cancer (in a continuing role; we're in the middle of a lot of things and decisions right now), an infected spider bite for me, and also some other writing. Mom's book is finished, making my deadline of the end of August. Now it enters several months of extensive proofing, polishing, and shining up, but the writing itself is done. About 20 people have read it in rough draft form chapter by chapter over the last year, and the reaction I've received has been positive. It WILL be published in 2018.

Meanwhile, back at the hospital, Project Revenge for Jet continues to unfold as House first of all tells the team about a change in the usual procedure. :) Enjoy!

(H/C)

The team stared at him, even Taub losing control of his expression for a moment. "What did you say?" Ramirez asked.

House smiled inwardly. This scene wasn't the point of all this, but still, he was enjoying it immensely. "I will be taking over all personal contact on this patient. From this point on, you will work only in the lab and on brainstorming at a distance."

"Why?" Kutner asked. "What's up?"

"It's a test," House said. "Sometimes, your patient isn't going to be able to interact with you, and lab tests and research will be all you have."

"But _this_ patient is perfectly conversant," Hollingwood pointed out.

"Which is why I called this a _test_ , not an actual. If this had been an actual emergency, you would have been informed, although you should have noticed yourself. I'm the front lines on this one from here on."

Taub shook his head. "Just because he has a scarred-up penis? That's not relevant to this case, House, and I wouldn't think it would be interesting to you for too long. They're old."

"You all will find in the world of Big Doctoring that the strangest things can be relevant. But to answer the question, no. This isn't just because he has some odd scars. Lots of people have old scars, many of those in embarrassing places. Now then, to get to the bottom line, let's try this one. I am your boss. I can fire any of you on a whim. My word is the law in this department, and I'm saying get to the lab or to research now. Except for Hollingwood. You can talk to his girlfriend for the next hour." House was making himself not favor his left arm during this differential, but the scratches, concealed underneath his long shirt sleeve, were stinging.

"I already questioned the girlfriend; there's not anything that seemed relevant there, either. What else do you want me to ask her about for the next hour?"

"The usual suspects: Where they've been, with whom, cheating or not cheating, etc. I know you already did this, but take it on review. If you run out of that, the weather and sports always make popular topics." Hollingwood was looking at him curiously, but at least she didn't object further.

"Wait a minute," Kutner said. "Why did you change clothes while you were out to lunch?"

"That was also a test," House said. "I wondered who would be the first to notice and how long it would take. I'll give you two bonus points, Kutner, but take back one for delayed observation. Now, come on, Hollingwood. You take the girlfriend, and I'll get to know our patient better."

(H/C)

As Hollingwood left the room with the girlfriend, House turned to face Curtis Markham, his patient, the man who had hurled a kitten into a parking lot with such force that he had completely shattered the shoulder joint. "So, Curt, your case seems to be getting more interesting."

Concern moved in at once. "You mean this is serious?"

"Hard to say. You're definitely sick, and we don't know with what yet, but I have decided that this case is worth me being involved personally. You should feel honored; I only do that on the especially tough ones."

Curtis was looking more and more worried. "Am I getting worse?"

"Yes, you are, slowly. We are trying our best to get an answer here, but these things take time. Meanwhile, rest assured that you are in the best hands medically in the world. We'll get to the bottom of this even if it takes some work. Most of my patients don't wind up dying; I just lose an especially stubborn one now and then. As long as you and your microbes don't turn stubborn, you should be fine." House removed a tourniquet and syringe from his pocket. "Now then, first of all, I need another blood sample to send off to the lab."

Curtis extended his arm, and House tied the tourniquet around and flinched as he did so. "Damned scratch."

"What scratch?"

House rolled up his left sleeve, displaying Jet's mark. "I got scratched by the kitten while I was home for lunch. Damned little beast thought I was trying to play with him. It was just a game, as far as he was concerned."

Curtis looked impressed. "That's a pretty bad scratch."

"Yep. All claws and teeth, that's a kitten for you. They're cute, but they are annoying little devils. And sharp ones." At the word sharp, he inserted the needle into Curtis' arm, missing the vein by a wide margin.

"Ouch!" Curtis flinched himself.

"Sorry. Let me try that again." He missed to the other side on his second attempt. "I apologize; I'm not usually this bad at it, Curt. This arm is bothering me. Hopefully third time's the charm." He nailed the vein that time but with more force than required. Curtis yelped again as blood finally began to flow into the tube.

"Finally got it," House said. "Be right back, Curt. Let me give this to somebody to send down to the lab." He unhung his cane from the bed rails and walked out to the nurse's station, turning in the blood vial. Then he pulled out his phone, dialed his own pager number, and stopped with everything in but send. Carefully noting the orientation of the screen, he slipped the phone back into his pocket, then returned to his patient. Curtis, he noted, hadn't registered the different clothes from House's visit this morning. No bonus points today for Curtis.

"They'll get right to work on that." He reached for something with his left hand, his right being on the cane, and flinched again, looking at the arm. "I'll have to keep an eye on this. Damned kitten. Cat scratches can turn nasty, and I haven't got time for cat scratch fever."

"Cat scratch fever?" Curtis asked.

"It's an actual illness; people get it every year. Think about it. Those paws were in the litter box right before they were in my arm. Scratches left untended can really go bad. Fortunately, this just happened at lunch, and I'm treating it promptly. Delaying proper medical care just increases the possibility of complications. At least it wasn't a bite. Cat bites are even worse than scratches; they can get infected like a wildfire. If he'd bitten me, I would have stopped in the ER for a shot of antibiotics already before coming back to work."

He pulled out his stethoscope and inserted the earbuds casually, deliberately being awkward about it. "Don't know why I keep the little demon anyway. Well, yes, I do. My girls like him. And he is cute part of the time. Still, pets can carry a lot of diseases. There's cat scratch fever, toxoplasmosis for the women - that's the one that impacts pregnancy. There's risk of rabies, risk of ringworm. A bite is an almost certain infection, and even scratches can fester and break out later, too, after they looked like they were healed. Plus, of course, the critters tend to get fleas. We've got to pay ridiculous prices for the flea stuff that actually works, and we have to keep applying it every month. But we can't just let him have fleas. They can carry diseases, too. Ever hear of the Black Death?"

Curtis had been shrinking back into the sheets progressively during this list, but now he looked puzzled. "The Black Death?"

Not a student of history, House thought. Curtis definitely wasn't earning any bonus points today. On the other hand, his merely average intelligence made him easier to play with mentally. "It's also known as the bubonic plague."

That at least rang a bell. "Bubonic plague!"

"Yes. It killed an estimated 50 million people in back in the 1300s. That was as much as half of the population of Europe."

"And it was caused by _fleas_?"

"Yes." House stepped forward with the stethoscope, pushing it against Curtis' chest, but he was listening to his patient's comments much more than his heart.

"But that was in the 1300s, you said. Long time ago."

"Oh, it's still around. The only difference is that we know how to treat it much better now, and we have meds for it. It's still not something you want to catch. Take a deep breath for me."

Curtis obliged. "Fleas have also been linked to typhus," House continued. "That can cause fever, headache, weakness, and muscle aches." Curtis had three of those symptoms currently, House knew. "Although people can present a little differently; not everybody has the full serving. In really bad cases, it can go on to encephalitis, which is an infection of the brain. Typhus can also suddenly re-present even years later, when the patient seemed totally recovered and asymptomatic. Then we call it Brill-Zinsser disease. Now, Curtis, once again, have you traveled recently?"

"No." Curtis was still looking a bit taken aback at that list of diseases, which could indeed be caused by cats and by fleas. House hadn't bothered to give the statistical likelihood of any of them. "I haven't been anywhere, and neither has Celia."

"Been visited by anybody who's been traveling?"

"No." House had left his sleeve rolled up, and Curtis was studying the red, vivid scratches more closely now.

"Have you cheated on your girlfriend lately?"

That at least drew some of the usual sputtering denial. "No! What kind of person do you take me for?"

"A sick one, and it's relevant. Sex transmits diseases very well; that's why you see so many warnings around these days to use protection. Although even that isn't 100%. Condoms can tear, you know." He threw that one in for good measure in the scaring the patient department, although he actually believed Curtis' denial. Whatever he had been doing with kittens, he hadn't apparently cheated on his girlfriend.

"I haven't been with anybody else for the last two years since we've been together."

Two years, House noted. He wondered if the girlfriend had been a non, part, or full partner in Jet's mistreatment. Another avenue to explore.

"Speaking of sex, that's another area that can be complicated by cats, although very rarely. I did once read of a case of Fournier's gangrene where the root cause of trauma had been a cat scratch."

"Four-what?" Curtis asked, looking definitely concerned.

"Fournier's gangrene. F-o-u-r-n-i-e-r." House wanted him to remember that one. He slipped a hand into his pocket and swiped the screen open on his phone, then hit the predetermined area of the send button. "That's when, usually after either immunocompromise or trauma, the patient's . . ." His pager went off.

He pulled it out and checked it, grumbling to himself. "I'm going to have to deal with something briefly, Curtis. I'll be back a little later to keep trying to work out the diagnosis here. Don't worry; we'll find out what's wrong. Dr. Hollingwood's still talking to your girlfriend; would you like a magazine or something to pass the time?"

"Could you hand me my laptop?" Curtis asked.

"Be glad to." House retrieved the laptop from the visitor's chair and handed it over. "We do offer free wifi at the hospital, you know. I'll be back."

He turned to leave, feeling thoroughly satisfied with phase one, and just as he exited the door, a nurse walked by. She checked sharply as her eyes fell on his arm. "Are you all right, Dr. House?"

"Cat scratch," he said. What a pure piece of luck; this wasn't scripted.

"You'd better be sure to treat that. Cat scratches can turn nasty."

"I know. I'll take care of it." Curtis couldn't have helped hearing this exchange. With a jaunty air, House walked on to the elevator, and by the time he reached the fourth floor, he was humming to himself.

Wilson stuck a nose into the conference room just as House did in fact have the first aid kit out and was diligently cleaning the scratch. "House, I heard . . . what happened to you?"

"Got scratched by the kitten over lunch," he said.

Wilson came in for a professional up-close examination. "You'd better take care of that."

"Need your eyesight checked? I thought that's what I was doing at the moment. Maybe you failed to notice."

"And why did you change clothes since this morning?"

"That was a test for the team, to see who noticed fastest. Congratulations; you have outscored all of them. Anything else?"

Wilson was eyeing him suspiciously. "You're in a good mood this afternoon."

"Yes, I am. Is that a sign of illness?"

Wilson sighed. "I bumped into Ramirez and Taub down in the lab, and they said that you had taken over all personal contact on your current patient yourself. He didn't seem that interesting to you this morning."

"It's not going to be that difficult medically, I think, but it's always helpful to keep the team off balance. Let them work from a distance for once; it will give them a different perspective."

"Uh huh." Wilson didn't look convinced. "So why aren't you with the patient if you suddenly want to be with the patient?"

"Because I needed to treat this scratch. It also gives him a little time to look up diseases he doesn't have on the internet and make himself paranoid."

Wilson stared. "Let me get this straight. You _want_ your patient to be looking up medical things on the internet and getting worried about diagnoses he doesn't have?"

"Call it a stress test. I'll score him in a bit." He finished disinfecting the scratches and added antibiotic ointment on top.

"Are you feeling all right?" Wilson asked.

"I'm feeling fine." House took some pity on his friend. "Maybe when it's all over, I'll tell you about it, Wilson. But meanwhile, nothing is wrong with me - other than a cat scratch - and Cuddy doesn't need to know."

"She's going to notice the scratch tonight, House, even if she is tied up in meetings all afternoon."

"She'll notice that. Jet scratched me; it happens. I'll live. But as for anything else that might or might not be going on, leave it alone. If you get her worried, I'll never tell you all the details, and I promise you'll never guess them. You'd just be shooting your curiosity in the foot."

Wilson shook his head and chuckled. "Whatever you're doing, I hope it works out for you, House."

House had no doubt of that. He was leading Curtis by several points at this stage with the main rounds still to be played.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay and apologies for the next one. I can almost guarantee that it will be two weeks minimum until the next update. I've mentioned that my father was diagnosed in late spring with cancer. Since then, we've been the rounds of chemo and such, all failing completely to date, and this is very aggressive and complicated by this point and growing like wildfire. The only option left on the table is radical, very high risk surgery. Next weekend, the family is gathering to spend a family day with him. Rather than people sitting around the waiting room at the hospital, he wants a family day the day before he goes into the hospital. We will all be there, I'm singing in his church that morning, and we will have a BBQ that afternoon together. Then he goes in on the 2nd for his surgery, and whatever will be will be. So that's next weekend's agenda. Writing hasn't been top position lately in priorities, and most of what time I have had has been spent rereading and polishing Mom's book.

Anyway, Retribution is fine, will be finished, and you're going to especially love the next chapter, which is the scene where House breaks into the patient's apartment and does far more than his usual break-in procedures. You're just going to have to wait a little while for it. Thanks for understanding.

(H/C)

A little later, House reentered Curtis Markham's room. He had left his sleeve rolled up, and the cat scratch, now shiny with antibiotic ointment, almost glowed in the overhead lights.

Curtis was looking suitably horrified by now, his eyes glued to his laptop. Just right, House thought. "Hello, Curtis," he said silkily. "So sorry I was interrupted. Now, where were we?" He pulled out his stethoscope again.

Curtis closed the laptop. "Dr. House," he said, "about this Furner's gangrene . . ."

"Fournier's gangrene," House corrected.

"Whatever. The internet says that's where your genitals just rot off?"

House nodded. "Very bad diagnosis to have. Usually you wind up having to have extensive debridement, even amputations to remove the necrotic tissue. It's very hard to treat once it takes hold."

"And an injury can start it?"

"Definitely. The two leading causes are injury and diabetes."

"I . . ." Curtis looked toward the door and dropped his voice. "Can those nurses hear us?"

"I doubt it, but I'd be glad to close the door." House did so. "Remember, Curtis, the nurses are also professionals, just like the doctors. We've seen it all. Bodily functions, rotting body parts, icky wounds, complicated injuries. I know it's personal to you, but to us, those things are just one part of the job. So even if the nurses heard you, they wouldn't think anything of it. They're used to dealing with unpleasant medical details. Happens every day."

Curtis was looking at House's scratch. "About those scars you asked me this morning where I got, and I said it didn't matter."

"Yes?" House was waiting.

"They were from a kitten," Curtis confessed.

"A kitten?" House flinched and looked at his arm in sympathy. "They are sharp little beasts, like I said. How did a kitten wind up scratching you there?"

"I had just gotten out of the shower and dropped my towel. I bent over to pick it up, and I guess he thought I was some kind of a toy. Then he dug in when I yelled. He was stuck to me, even when I stood up; I had to pry him off."

"Ouch," House said. "That sounds painful." It did, though nowhere near as painful, and nowhere near as intentional, as shattered bones from literally being thrown out.

"Do you think that I've got this Furier's gangrene?"

"Fournier's," House corrected again politely. "Let's take a look. I didn't see any necrosis this morning, but of course, I didn't realize that a cat had been involved. They really do carry lots of germs." He moved the sheet aside and examined Curtis in slow motion. "Hmm."

"Well?" Curtis' pulse was up; House could tell.

"I don't see anything at the moment." House subtly emphasized the last three words. "I think probably, you're clear right now, but there have been a few cases where it was a late effect of an injury. You need to keep a very careful eye on things. Don't ever let your guard down on this; it's too potentially serious."

"I won't," Curtis vowed. He was sweating lightly.

"And watch out for the kitten. Don't give him another chance. Or I guess he'd be getting close to becoming a cat by now, given the age of these scars. What was this, round about last May?"

Curtis was impressed. "Wow. You can tell that just from looking at scars?"

"Yes. About a week or so into May, I'd say." Curtis' eyes widened. "I am good, Curtis. I'm the best. That's why other doctors refer so many of their patients to me."

"I can see that."

"So do you still have this genital jumper?"

"No. I got rid of him. That same afternoon, actually. Took him out in the country and just dropped him off. I figured he'd find a place."

House shrugged. "There's always a barn in the country where cats can take up."

"Yes. That's one thing about kittens . . ." He looked past House as the door to the room opened, and his girlfriend Celia entered.

"What's one thing about kittens?" she asked.

"When they start to outgrow the cute stage, you can always drop them off out in the country where they'll find a new home and then get another little one to replace them."

Celia nodded. "There's always kittens around."

"No shortage of them in the world," House agreed. He was interpreting body language at full speed mentally. Curtis, of course, was lying; he had given all of the physiological signs when he talked about taking Jet to the country and dropping him off. On the other hand, Celia had no hidden thoughts at all attached to the concept of kitten dumping. It was just part of the cycle to her. She hadn't been there in the car that day with Jet, House decided. On the other hand, she certainly wasn't a candidate for Pet Owner of the Year. "Kittens are so much cuter than cats," he said, with mental apologies to Belle. "They lose something as they age." Both members of his audience were nodding in agreement.

Curtis snapped back to his new fears. "Ce, Dr. House was just telling me how many diseases cats can carry. He got scratched himself at lunch." House held out his war wound as demonstration, and Celia inspected it. "But they can even cause something called Fourer's gangrene."

"Fournier's," House said.

"That's where if you get hurt, your . . ." Curtis shuddered at the thought. "Your dick can rot and fall off."

Celia's eyebrows climbed her forehead. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," House confirmed. "See, a cat or kitten has a lot of germs on its claws and in its teeth. Scratches and bites can be quite serious. They can even on occasion be fatal."

"And that black one," Curtis said. "Remember that black kitten that scratched me?"

"Took over a week to get well." Celia tightened up in remembrance of that week of abstinence. "But that's all healed now, Curt. Isn't it, Dr. House?"

"It looks healed, but there have been cases of late effect. It's something to be aware of. Never get complacent and let yourself stop thinking about it. Also, of course, never let it happen again. Did this black demon have a successor?"

"A what?" Celia wasn't much more of a mental genius than Curtis was. House had already commented to the team the day before that she seemed to have more jewelry than brains. She obviously was proud of her jewelry, wearing several necklaces and bracelets, plus earrings, of course.

"Did you get another kitten still in the cute phase to replace him after you moved him on?"

"Not for a while," Curtis said. "I didn't want another one at all, but Ce insisted that they were cute and it was a fluke that he'd really hurt me. She's the one who likes having a kitten around. We finally got another one about two months ago."

"Well, be careful," House said. "Be aware of, shall we say, presenting yourself as a target. Now then, back to your illness, I have some more questions for you. Environment and background can give us the clue we need to correctly diagnose these illnesses, so let's get the best picture of your day-to-day life that we can."

(H/C)

That evening, House beat Cuddy home and changed clothes, putting Thomas' in a bag for later and throwing them in Victory. She at least wouldn't get a chance to wonder why he was wearing his father's. He did show her the scratch before she had a sleeve-up chance to see it, and he endured another intense disinfecting and first aid session. The girls were likewise impressed with the injury.

Thomas came over to eat with them, but after the girls were in bed, he was already on his feet in the living room when House and Cuddy exited the nursery after putting them down. "Let's go get milk shakes, Greg," he suggested.

"Great idea." House grabbed his coat. "Back in a while, Lisa."

Cuddy was watching the two of them suspiciously. "What are you two doing?"

"We're going to go spend some quality time together," House told her innocently. "You're supposed to be in favor of that, remember? Want us to bring you back a milk shake?"

She shuddered. "No." She watched as they left, wondering what on earth they really were doing. They had both been on edge tonight with an odd kind of mutual excitement, though trying to hide it from the girls. All at once, she remembered Wilson's comment in Lexington a year ago when they were there for Blythe's funeral: "Sure you want two of them?" Cuddy sighed and tried to lose herself in a movie.

House and Thomas, meanwhile, did indeed go for milk shakes and sat in Beryl in the parking lot, drinking them and plotting. House reported the afternoon's intelligence. "So they're serial kitten dumpers. I don't think they had ever actually injured one directly until Jet mistook this patient's penis for a string toy, and I don't think the girlfriend was involved in hurting him, but both of them have tossed out several. It's just a natural part of the cycle to them. And they have another kitten right now."

Thomas was looking thoughtful. "I want that kitten," he said.

"I'm sure that could be arranged, but what would Jet think? Belle practically divorced me over one afternoon fraternizing with Cathy's kitten."

"Belle and Jet are two entirely different personalities, Greg, in case you haven't realized that by now. He's really a very happy, easy-going kitten, and he's not quite a year old yet. Still very playful. I think he'd adapt well to a younger roommate. If it didn't work, Ruth has several connections. We could at least find the kitten a home. It would have much better chances than dumping out in the country."

"Getting the kitten won't be difficult; I'll just break in tomorrow morning while the girlfriend is up at the hospital. But we need to end this cycle once and for all. They stopped for several months after Jet, so extremely negative associations do have an effect. We just need to convince them to never again have a kitten. Got to strike at the girlfriend, too; she didn't hurt Jet, but she's the main motivator in the pet dumping cycle because she's the one who keeps wanting another. I've successfully got the patient worried about Fournier's gangrene and probably paranoid for life . . ."

"What's Fournier's gangrene?" Thomas asked, unlike Curtis getting the pronunciation correct the first time.

"It's where your genitals turn necrotic and slowly die," House said. Thomas flinched at the thought. "It is indeed usually caused by either injury or diabetes. This patient doesn't have it, but he's going to be worrying about it forever now. But I'd like to do another thing or two to him. Add his girlfriend into the mix, and I had a few ideas from talking to them and watching them."

"And the kitten," Thomas insisted. "I want that kitten."

"You've got him. Or her, I'm not sure which. We'll see tomorrow. About those other ideas, how does this sound?" By the time House had finished outlining his thoughts, Thomas was laughing, even while still being mad on one level.

"Greg, it's an honor to know you. To successful plotting!" He held out his nearly empty milk shake cup, and House tapped his own against it in a toast. "I only wish I could be there," Thomas said.

"I do, too, but on the very off chance that we did get caught, I'd get slapped with HIPAA if you were with me. Kitten stealing can't be more than a misdemeanor, but Andrews - remember Andrews from the trial? - is still paying for what he did. It jumps the potential consequences up too far to give you their address."

"I understand. I'll just settle for my own contribution that I'll be working on tonight for you." Thomas slurped down his final swallow and then started Beryl. "We'd better get back to Lisa. I must say, Greg, tonight was fun."

"Yep," House agreed. "And tomorrow is going to be even more fun. I'll give you a full report."

"I can't wait to hear it."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: My Dad survived his surgery at the beginning of the week, which wasn't at all a given. He's still in ICU, hanging tough with only fairly minor complications so far. Thanks for the good thoughts and prayers.

Now, what you've all been waiting for . . .

(H/C)

Friday morning, House first verified at PPTH that Celia was there as usual. She had been spending almost all the time with Curtis since his hospitalization, going back home only for a few hours of sleep at night. For all their faults, they seemed a devoted and well-matched couple, unimaginative, unintelligent, somewhat unethical, but plodding along well enough as a team. Those two deserved each other, he thought.

Having made sure they were there and having left the team enough busy work to occupy them all morning on the case (House already had the true solution, but nothing he had said so far was going to help Curtis or the team any in arriving at it), he left PPTH. Cuddy was tied up with insurance meetings today, two of the major companies renewing their contracts.

Victory galloped over the roads, seeming as eager as House was. They made excellent time to Thomas'. The old man was waiting on his feet at the door as House came up the sidewalk, and he looked far younger than 76, infused with a mischievous glee. His mother, had she been around and able to see him right now, wouldn't have trusted his expression any further than Cuddy would have.

"Did you get it?" House asked.

Thomas produced a jar, with lid carefully screwed tight, and a Ziploc baggie. "Jet thought I was crazy last night and this morning not providing him with any litter, but he did use the box anyway. He just glared at me. I cleaned it out promptly every time and gave him a treat."

"Wonderful. Those two deserve his contribution." House shoved the jar and the baggie in his coat pocket. "Okay, old man, I'm off to commit breaking, entering, vandalism, and minor theft. And if I get caught, you're posting bail."

"I will," Thomas promised. "Remember, Greg, anything worth doing is worth giving your best."

House laughed. "I'll try to give it everything I've got." He turned back to Victory, and he felt Thomas' wistful, amused, and yes, proud eyes on him all the way back to the car. Odd. House in general was a lone wolf in plotting; he enjoyed springing the results on people later for effect, but the actual preliminary machinations were his alone. Yet he had truly enjoyed having a partner in crime all the way this time.

Curtis and Celia lived in a large apartment building with a parking garage conveniently beneath. House stashed Victory and took the elevator up to the relevant floor. He was past morning rush hour of people going to work, and he saw not a soul. The door readily yielded to his efforts, and he was inside within seconds.

The apartment was a bit cluttered. All the better for his purposes. It was smallish, a two-person model, and lower medium range in terms of rent. House looked around, noting the desk in the corner of the living room. There was no visible sign of a kitten. "Kitty, kitty, kitty!" he called. Nothing.

He could smell their litter box, and he followed the odor through the small kitchen. The box was in the big pantry, in the large space below the first shelves, and it clearly hadn't been cleaned in at least a week. For all that, it was apparent that the kitten was dutifully using it. Two bowls were on the floor in the kitchen. Both were empty, but a sack of cat food (cheapest brand sold, House noted) that was also in the bottom section of the pantry had been turned over and was spilled for a foot or two across the floor. The kitten had done its best to feed itself; Celia hadn't been for a few days. There was a clear person track in the spilled food; she had noticed the mess and still hadn't filled the bowl. Probably had yelled at if not thrown something at the kitten on her way out this morning, and hence the little feline was hiding now, uncertain at the moment of the human race.

One of the empty bowls had cat food dust around the bottom. The other was cleaner but was bone dry. House picked it up, hurling a few choice words at Celia. Even noticing the kitten's comment on (lack of) care the last few days, she hadn't refilled the water dish. It was large enough for several days' worth, and it hadn't been spilled, just not replenished. House turned on the faucet in the sink and ran the bowl full.

There was a rush of tiny paw pads behind him as the kitten came galloping to the sound of water. It was a calico, smaller than Jet had been, and her rush slammed to a stop in the doorway, caught between stranger shyness and stranger hope. House put the bowl down on the floor and wiggled his fingers in it, splashing softly. The kitten came quickly the rest of the way.

She sat there lapping thirstily for nearly five minutes, and House felt his anger growing. When she finally finished, the calico turned away and came straight to him, rubbing politely through his ankles in thanks. He bent to pick her up, and she tensed up at first, then relaxed and started her motor. He scratched her ears and studied her. A true calico with large, well-defined patches, colored like a feline coral snake. She would make a nice visual contrast with Jet, who didn't have a non-black hair on him. "You poor thing," he said. She purred and leaned into his fingers.

He glanced at his watch and put the kitten down. "All right, Tidbit, we've got work to do." He made a full tour of the apartment first, getting the layout in mind and also looking for Celia's jewelry box. He couldn't have missed it; it stood on the dresser in the bedroom as the clear center of attention. Perfect. House went back to the desk. It had stacks of papers on the open top, and he sorted through enough to verify that what he wanted was in fact there. One item of interest from yesterday afternoon's second interrogation was that the two were being audited by the IRS. Curtis had admitted it when grilled on additional stress lately. Yes, they had been gathering what records they had, which House knew weren't complete anyway. Curtis had admitted that, saying, "Who actually keeps all that stuff?" House privately thought they had probably claimed a few deductions that they weren't entitled to. Like kitten dumping, it was just how the world worked for them.

The calico, won over completely by water, trailed him curiously all around the apartment. House went back to the bedroom to start. "Okay, girl," he told his feline shadow. "We're going to have a party." The bed was messy, unmade, and he pulled out the jar from his pocket. Had to save a good bit of this for the paperwork for the IRS, but he used about a third of the urine to make two clear yellow spots right on the pillows.

The kitten had clawed her way curiously up the side of the bed and sniffed at Jet's deposit, then at the second one. Then, to House's delight, she crouched and left one of her own. "Atta girl," he told her, scratching her ears again.

He turned his attention to the jewelry box. Picking up the calico so she wouldn't get either struck or frightened, he pushed the large jewelry box off the dresser. It struck the floor sharply, the lid breaking off, drawers spilling out. Perfect.

House put the kitten back down. "Let's play a game," he suggested to her. He first chose a necklace of fake pearls - none of this stuff was actual, high-quality jewelry, just intended for simulated effect if you didn't look too closely. Celia liked shiny baubles but couldn't afford the real thing. House dragged the necklace across the floor. The kitten pounced at once, chasing after it. House retreated, giving it a tantalizing swish, and she was right after him. The string broke, fake pearls rolling right and left. "Time out," he called. The calico was still chasing pearls, but she quickly changed targets as he picked up a second necklace.

Together, they went through half of what was in the jewelry box, leaving the other half on the floor in the wreckage of the jewelry box. By the time House finished, there were necklaces, bracelets, and earrings strewn over much of the bedroom and halfway down the hall. "There, Celia," he told the air. "See what having kittens brings you?"

The kitten scampered after him to the living room, tail erect, whiskers twitching. She'd never had this much fun in her short life. At the desk, House knocked the paperwork stacks off the top, and they fell in a fluttering shower. The calico jumped and snagged. "Good girl," he said. "I brought a little ice pick for claw and tooth effect, but feel free to contribute." Once she got the idea, enticed by him turning a few pieces into toys, she added several true claw and tooth marks of her own. To finish off the production, House added the rest of the urine from the jar and the deposits from the Ziploc bag. The calico sniffed around and again squatted herself. House then knocked off the shelf of DVDs just to add something to the general mess besides the jewelry and the financial paperwork so they wouldn't start questioning the amazing strategy of the kitten's choices.

Finally, House went back into the kitchen. He scratched up part of the litter and its contents over the floor. He also turned over a few boxes on the shelves above, and macaroni and Cheerios joined the cat food and litter mess below. At the end, he emptied out the water dish; whatever else kittens might do, they couldn't refill their own water bowls, and even Celia and Curtis might be able to work that out.

With all else finished, he went to a heat vent in the bedroom and carefully lowered himself to its level. It had a hole for a screw but had no screw inserted, nothing securing it, and he pried it up. He dropped in a few bracelets, three earrings, and some of the scattered fake pearls, and he left a necklace artistically draped half in and half out. There, now, they would think that the kitten had escaped into the duct work of the building, but the jewelry would count for far more in Celia's mind.

The calico sniffed the opening, and he pulled her back. "No, sorry. You don't need down there. You're coming with me. Any objections?" The kitten purred and looked up at him in adoration.

House carefully pried himself up off the floor, then retrieved the kitten, placed her inside his coat, and zipped it up over her. "Your cooperation will be appreciated," he said. "Can't carry you openly, in case somebody sees us between here and the garage." The kitten snuggled up in the warm cocoon, still purring, and House braced his left arm across his stomach, giving her a firm base. Right hand on his cane, he limped out of the apartment, relocking the door behind him.

The calico seemed content enough, and he left her in his coat as he drove back over to Thomas' house. The old man was waiting on pins and needles and had the door open before House even got out of the car. Once they were in, House unzipped his coat and offered the kitten. "You wash her, and I'll wash me," he said. He disappeared into the bathroom, where his own clothes from yesterday morning, now washed and dried, were set out and waiting for him.

When he got out, Thomas was sitting on the couch with the little calico tucked into a towel. He was rubbing her and sweet talking her, and Jet was right at his elbow, sniffing curiously. "She's a sweet little thing," Thomas said.

"That she is. She helped me out over there, too. Caught on nicely. What are you going to name her?"

"Karma," Thomas replied. "Sit down and tell me all about it, Greg."

Long before House had finished his tale, the two kittens were in the floor, having an experimental wrestling match, stopping now and then to smell each other, then resuming tentative play.

(H/C)

Late Friday afternoon, House entered Jensen's office. The psychiatrist took one look at his dancing eyes and came to attention. "What's going on?" he asked.

House sat down in his usual chair, propped his leg up on the ottoman, and gave a satisfied twirl of his cane as he spun it over him and put it down on the floor on the other side. "This is confidential," he said.

"Of course," Jensen replied. "You ought to know that by now."

"No, I mean _really_ confidential. Cuddy can't ever know. She wouldn't approve. But with all confidentiality duly in place, you have got to hear about my day yesterday and today."

By the time he finished, Jensen was laughing as hard as he was.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So sorry for the long delay in getting this final chapter to you. Dad hasn't made it home yet from his surgery at the beginning of October. He's had a very complicated course and was in ICU for several weeks. Finally out of there, at least, but still has ground to make up before he can be discharged home. I've also very unexpectedly had something major come up in the last two weeks which is good, extremely good, but will demand a lot of time for a month or so in getting details worked out. So life has been even more hectic than usual and will be for a bit longer.

This is the last chapter of Retribution. I hope you've enjoyed this little feline tale of plotting for House and Thomas. There are more Pranks universe stories out there, but first, I think I'm going to go to a story that has been on the back burner simmering away for a while now. Still House but very different from this series. It will start probably within the next month, but I have to get my big project squared away first, really need to finish that before full winter sets in if possible, and Dad's situation still isn't totally stable, either.

Thanks for the reviews and for still being on this journey with me. I never imagined starting that first story where it was going to go, much less Jensen, Abby, Thomas, et al.

Enjoy the end of Retribution! The story about the paper towel rolls is true; it happened in the home of a friend of mine.

(H/C)

Saturday morning, House pushed himself through breakfast, then stood up and grabbed his coat. "I'll meet you all out at the stable," he said. "I've got the answer on my case, so I'm going to go by the hospital first."

"Did you fix the patient, Daddy?" Rachel asked.

"Yes. I think he'll be good and cured in no time," he said to her. "Bye, girls. See you soon."

Both girls were looking after their father as he headed for the door, and Thomas, who had come over for breakfast, changed the subject. "Guess what, girls?"

The question was irresistible, and attention focused on him at once. "What?" Abby asked.

"I've got a surprise for you back at my place."

"What surprise?" Rachel demanded.

"A secret surprise. But not for long. You'll know pretty soon."

Cuddy looked a bit suspicious herself. "What kind of surprise, Thomas?"

"A very unexpected one. I was going around minding my own business this week, and I tripped straight over this surprise. So I knew I had to have it." Having thoroughly captured their attention, he turned his to the last few bites of breakfast. "We can go to my place for lunch after the stable, and I'll show you."

House was smiling privately as he went out into the garage. He backed Victory out onto the road and turned for PPTH. He and Thomas had agreed that Cuddy didn't need all details of yesterday, and certainly the girls didn't, but there was nothing unbelievable about finding a kitten. Curtis unfortunately had a lot of company in the world when it came to dumping them.

He stopped at the nurses' station to give new med orders for Curtis, ones that would treat what he actually did have, then went on to the room. The door was shut, but when House tapped politely and then opened it, he knew that his efforts from yesterday had been discovered. Curtis looked worried, visions of the IRS dancing in his head, no doubt. Celia looked furious. Smoke was practically coming out of her ears.

"Good morning!" House said brightly. "I have some good news."

"We could use some," Curtis grumbled.

"I've solved your case. You should be feeling better in a day or two, and you can get back home probably Monday or so."

"Great." The tone was flat, and House feigned disappointment.

"You know, most patients are glad to hear that they're going to be cured."

Celia was still fuming, but Curtis at least focused a little more. "I'm sorry, Dr. House. We do appreciate everything you've done."

"Remember, though, that even though this wasn't a long-term effect of the kitten scratches this time, you need to pay attention to any changes. Inspect yourself regularly. Watch out for any difference in color or, shall we say, energy. Fournier's gangrene is nothing to play around with, and it can be a late effect of an injury. So don't ever let your guard down."

Curtis looked suitably frightened. Celia came to life, smacking one hand down hard against the arm of the visitor's chair. "Damned kittens."

"They're more trouble than they're worth," Curtis agreed. "Does yours ever tear stuff up, Dr. House?"

"Other than my arm, you mean?" House slid his sleeve up enough to display the healing scratch. "Oh, sure, all the time. Toilet paper, paperwork. All kittens enjoy that. I think the cuteness is just a disguise to keep us from wanting to kill them. You know what ours got into the other day? A jumbo pack of paper towels. Fresh from the store, hadn't even been opened. Shredded _twelve rolls_ while we were at work, every last roll in the bag, then sat there looking proud of himself. It was just a kitten party, as far as he was concerned. Like I said the other day, I only keep the little demon around because my girls think he's cute."

"They're not _that_ cute," Celia put in. "We're never getting another one. If you ever bring one home again, Curtis, I'll break up with you."

"So is your current one going off to find a country home?" House asked, adopting a conspiratorial and far-from-disapproving tone. "I've been tempted to do the same thing to ours a few times, I must admit."

"No," Curtis answered. "She's already gone. She managed somehow to get the vent cover up off the heating vent yesterday while she was playing with things, and she escaped into the building ductwork."

"I hope she fries in there," Celia snapped. "Or starves or something. We sure aren't taking her back out. I put that duct cover back on and screwed it down this time, so she can't get back in even if she wanted to."

House shrugged. "No great loss. Well, Curtis, I hope you get to feeling better very soon. The meds should start kicking in today. But if you ever want a followup appointment, just to make sure that things are staying healthy, I'd be glad to see you again for a reconsult."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you again, Dr. House."

House gave them a smile and turned to leave. "My pleasure."

(H/C)

The cars turned into Thomas' driveway, and Rachel started undoing her own car seat straps as soon as they stopped. "I wanna see the surprise."

House, having parked Victory, had opened the car door on her side. "Well, we're here, so it won't be long now."

Abby perked up, pointing as Cuddy lifted her out of her seat. "Look. There's two!"

They all turned. Sure enough, a calico face was right next to the black one as the kittens peered around the curtain in the front window, inspecting the new arrivals.

"It's a kitten!" Rachel wiggled her way down from her father's arms and galloped toward the door. "It's two kittens! Grandpa Thomas, you have two kittens!"

Thomas was smiling ear to ear. "I found this poor little thing yesterday and decided Jet wouldn't mind some company. Now be gentle, Rachel. She's still a little uncertain; don't scare her." He opened the door, and Rachel tiptoed in.

The rest of them followed. Jet and Karma were side by side in the middle of the floor, the bond between them already visible. "She's got pots!" Abby said, delighted.

Rachel nodded. "Different-colored pots. And white. But she's not old."

"Cats aren't like people," Abby agreed.

Cuddy still wasn't quite sure what the two men in her life had been doing this week, but a kitten seemed so incongruous as a result of Housian scheming that she couldn't see how there might be any connection at all. There _were_ stray kittens all around. "She's cute," she said.

"All kittens are cute," House corrected. "Self-defense mechanism. It keeps us liking them even when they rip things up."

"You're a bear, Daddy," Abby scolded. Rachel was already scratching Karma's ears - and Jet's - and Abby went forward to join her.

"Has Jet cast his vote yet?" House asked.

"They love each other. They were romping all around last night, and then they slept curled up together."

"What's her name?" Rachel asked.

"Karma," Thomas told her.

"Karma?" Abby, intrigued by an unfamiliar word, cocked her head, looking for a moment remarkably like her father.

"That means when someone gets what they deserve," Thomas said.

Rachel accepted this. "Like you," she said.

"Like me?" Thomas didn't follow her for one.

She nodded vigorously, leaving the kitten to come across for a hug. "You came to live here. You deserve us."

Cuddy smiled at her daughter, forgetting lingering curiosity in the moment. "She's right, Thomas. Everybody here finally has what they deserve." She hooked her husband with her right hand and her father-in-law with her left and hugged them both, and the girls joined in.

In the floor beyond the family, Karma abruptly pounced on the tip of Jet's tail, and the kittens fell into a ferocious battle for a few seconds, then broke apart as if at a silent referee's whistle and started washing each other.


End file.
